(Sermon) “Parenting as a Spiritual Discipline”

Posted on January 6, 2015 by bobjanisdillon

A sermon about the spirituality involved in being a parent – but also about where we find spirituality in general. The poem is excerpted from Mary Oliver’s “In Blackwater Woods”.

“Parenting as a Spiritual Discipline”

People will go to great lengths in pursuit of spiritual growth. I’ve heard of people travelling thousands of miles, paying thousands of dollars to study with a guru in a meditation center somewhere. While there, these seekers of wisdom take on a heavy diet of silent meditation – they learn about themselves through hour upon hour of tedium, sitting still, quieting themselves. When they are not meditating they perform basic tasks like sweeping the floor of the monastery. They sleep only a little – you only really need 3 or 4 hours to get by. They eat only a little. They are expected to follow the rules of that particular center or guru, or go home. It’s not an easy life. But what they get from the experience, hopefully, is wisdom. They come home a new person, stronger and more resilient, more mindful. And they have a renewed sense of who they are.

I would love to go to one of those months-long spiritual retreat centers some time in my life. But if you don’t have the time, or the money, or the inclination to engage in any of this, here’s good news: not only do all of us have opportunities for spiritual growth right here at home, some of you are already partaking of a very similar experience to the disciplined, monastic life. It’s known as parenthood. Continue reading →

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(Sermon) The New Jersey Resurrection

Posted on January 6, 2015 by bobjanisdillon

A fun sermon about extraterrestrials and wonderful New Jersey…

“The New Jersey Resurrection”
Rev. Bob Janis-Dillon
The First Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Hunterdon County
May 17, 2009

Good news, friends,
good news:
it turns out we are not alone.

There is a distant planet
in a star system the Hubble telescope does not see,
perhaps is not even capable of seeing,
and on this planet there lives a species of –
well, for lack of a better word
let us call them people.
And these people on this far-away world
are very much like us,
in many respects:
they live, they love, they try, they laugh, they mourn, they die.
While the details of their lives would be fascinating to recount,
all I’m able to share with you today is
an unusual quirk in the religious belief of many of these people:

It turns out this far flung people on a distant galaxy
actually believe, despite any evidence,
that when they are dead
they will experience an afterlife
in a place they know
as New Jersey. Continue reading →

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(Sermon) Walking to the Laundromat

Posted on January 6, 2015 by bobjanisdillon

This is a sermon I’ve delivered several times to various congregations – it’s a less literal, oral poem to help us reflect on our amazing, bewildering life in the modern age. The text in italics – sung in the oral version of the sermon – is from the traditional spiritual “Over My Head”.

“Walking to the Laundromat”
Rev. Bob Janis-Dillon
delivered at Morristown Unitarian Fellowship
March 13, 2011

There has never been an age like this
since the beginning of the world.

I am walking to the Laundromat
along streets that were carved into the
earth a 100 years ago,
walking these streets
ushered by buildings of brick and stone
that were built by hands like mine,
that were built by tools that contain in them the
same electricity that powers lightning
these buildings that were
envisioned by the minds of men,
these men that were given life and kept alive by the
minds and bodies of women. Continue reading →

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Your Monday Blessing: The Phoenix by Cheryl Dedecker

Posted on January 5, 2015 by bobjanisdillon

Your New Year’s Monday blessing comes to you from the pen of a friend and poet, Cheryl DeDecker. Thank you, Cheryl!

The Phoenix 2015

A sense of anticipation
And a dull sense of sadness
Both claiming space in her heart
At the same time
Dancing thoughtfully in the space
Between past and future
Acknowledging loss and joy
Faces–once so familiar
Now fading, like a sweet dream
She would hold on
If she could
If only she could
But now is the time for letting go.
Aches, cold.
Unwanted companions
Dull feathers
All color spent
In pursuit of bright dreams
Cover her
She is ready
Facing that last setting sun
Waiting…
Eyes closed, yet every cell aware
Sensing the light and colors
Red, orange, yellow
Shining upon her and through her
Intensifying
Yet not igniting yet
The spark begins
When she unleashes
And releases the flood
Of fears, insecurities, doubts
Want, Uncertainty, Anger…
With anger, the real flames begin
And burn
With consuming waves
Until the red of anger turns
To all white flame
Flickering with forgiveness now
And the dull feathers fall away
Or float away
Ash in the air
Leaving now the brightest crimson shades
The Phoenix
Beginning anew
She stretches in delight, breathes deeply
Strong.
Filled with excitement and energy.
Possessing wisdom
Having overcome obstacles
Having been present
Opening her eyes and her heart
Now
To hope,
Love
And possibility.
**************
Happy New Year!
May your heart be renewed and your spirit strengthened!

Cheryl DeDecker

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Where the Old Year Goes

Posted on December 29, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

There is an inn, where the old year goes,
On the far hill, where the crabgrass grows, and the honeysuckle,
Where the stones incline together, a few aurochs painted on their side,
Beneath the thatch of rusted armies and dried out empires.

They welcome him in, with a fireside grin,
And say, speak, old man,
Tell us of the summer you carry in your beard,
And the time the days kissed under the bleachers.
Then they light his pipe with the light of the moon,
And the spark of a young boy’s dreams.

Out in the world, the naked and the new take their customary precedence.
Here at the inn, the old wear tales,
And everything raw is addressed in candlelight,
Every emptiness between the stones kindly remembered.

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A room in my heart

Posted on December 22, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

Lord, I have prepared a little room in my heart
for the child who is the light of the world.
Nothing fancy: there’s hay everywhere,
I’m afraid, and beneath the mess,
the stone hasn’t been polished at all.
You know, I had always intended
to make this place more hospitable.
But perhaps, Lord, it will suffice.
I will light a candle tonight,
within my heart,
and await Her coming.
I have hung a sign on my heart
in paper and crayon: open.
There is room here for laughter, I swear.
There is comfort in the food trough.
Meanwhile, by this cradle of darkness
I will carry the wait lightly
and name it as holy.

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On the Corner of New and Union

Posted on December 19, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

On the corner of New and Union,
The crossing guard asks me where I’m headed.

Now, I’m thirty-eight years old.
I’ve been across the street and back again,
If you know what I mean.
I mumble my thanks, and wave a hand – hoping to transmit,
In one gesture, both an acknowledgement and a release from duty.
I’m OK, I tell her. Just fine.

No such luck.
She strides into the intersection,
Holding aloft her red badge of courage,
Making of her ordinary frame
A colossus of roads.
She halts the world: in this case,
One, maybe two cars sitting in park,
Their occupants mute witnesses to the spectacle
of a six-foot-four man being helped across the road.
I’m determined to make the best of it.
As a father, and as an ardent promoter of the public welfare,
I have, I remember, a deep and pronounced respect
For crossing guards
And things of that nature.
I try and give words to my appreciation,
But the crossing guard is out in front of me again:

“They told me to cross the children. Well,
I figure, everybody’s somebody’s child.”

Sometimes people ask, if God exists,
where She is, and why
it takes Him so long to pick up the phone.
People ask just how God manages, on top of everything else,
to really, truly, love everyone. Everyone. Even those people.
These are real questions,
although the answers may be a little bit hard to grasp
in these little hands of ours.

I will say this.
On the corner of New and Union,
there’s a crossing guard
who’s looking out for you.

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Your Monday Blessing: star followers

Posted on December 15, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

We, too, have followed a star.
Before Bethlehem, it lit the night in alien worlds,
resplendent, mattering much
to all those with eyes to see.
What ancient astrologers
tracked its course through their heavens,
and saw, in the infinite darkness, a sign
that turned the inside heavens upside down,
and moved old wisdom towards infant wonder?
Their journey is lost to us now.
Radio waves lap upon the rock,
but the scrolls are brittle,
and the bottles are sand.
The heralds of the mystery
have become what they proclaimed,
while the star they saw
shines weakly in humble cells.
Yet in this treasure chest I carry,
I can hear the faint echo of their footsteps,
and with each opening I can taste their sleepless joy,
as they cry yes,
yes, something good
will come of this.

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Your Monday Blessing: for Advent

Posted on December 8, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

There will always be Herods in this world:
Petty men in large palaces,
Murderers of dreams.
And there will always be a little Herod in us,
Scribbling decrees
On our map of the Heavens.

There will always be Magi in this world:
Followers of the tiny spark,
Those who will go to the ends of the earth for wonder.
And there will always be a little Magi in us,
Wiser in our dreams
Than we know.

There will always be shepherds in this world:
Holy caretakers of little ones,
Whose service is interrupted by song.
And there will always be a little shepherd in us,
Bearers of heart-treasure
For the mother of the world.

There will always be angels:
Vast armies whose only power is praise,
The night’s manifold courage.
And there will always be a little angel in us,
Shining and singing our hearts out
For new life.

And the time will come. And love will be there, too.

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Isaiah 1:4-23 – an interpretation

Posted on December 5, 2014 by bobjanisdillon

Woe to this sinful nation,
a people whose guilt is great,
a brood of evildoers,
children given to corruption!
They have forsaken true power,
they have despised the Holy One of all lands,
and turned their backs on mystery.

Why do you seek out new beatings?
Why do you continue to rebel against justice?
Your whole head is gasping for air,
your whole heart can’t breathe.
From the sole of your foot to the top of your head,
there is no health in it,
but bruises and sores
and bullet wounds;
they have not been cleansed or bandaged
or blessed with oil.

Your country is desolate,
Your cities burned with fire;
foreigners till your fields.
The promised land is bereft
like a carnival booth once the circus has left town.
But for a few stragglers the Lord almighty has left us
who still speak up and show up for justice,
we would look more barren than Hiroshima ever did.

Hear the words of the Lord,
your rulers of Sodom;
Listen to the instructions of our God,
you people of Gomorrah!
What to me is the multitude of your offerings?
Says the Lord.
I have had enough of Christmas pageants
and caroling in the square,
I do not delight
in a fresh-killed turkey on the table,
I have no pleasure
in extended mall hours and holiday specials.
I hate, I despise your religious festivals,
the Rockefeller treelighting is a stench to me.
Even though you give me prayers and praise alike,
I will not accept them.

When you come before me,
who has asked this of you,
the trampling of my courts?
Who has asked of you
the deaths of my children,
Trayvon and Tamir, Michael and Eric?
Who has asked of you
the deaths of my children in Columbine,
the deaths of my children in Newtown?
Lighting advent candles is futile,
incense is an abomination to me.
Christmas Eve, Sundays and congregational gatherings –
I cannot bear your worthless assemblies.
Your special feasts and your micro-managed celebrations
my soul hates.
You have become a burden to me,
I am weary of bearing them.
When you spread your hands out in prayer,
I hide my eyes from you;
Even when you offer many prayers,
I am not listening.
Your hands are full of blood!

Wash and make yourselves clean.
Remove the evil of your doings
from before my eyes;
Cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
Seek justice,
Rescue the oppressed,
Take up the cause of the fatherless,
Defend the widow.

Come now, let us argue it out,
says the Lord:
You are not a white people
but crimson,
scarlet with blood,
But the rivers of my justice
can wash even this.
If you are willing, and do what is good,
You shall enjoy the good of the land,
But if you refuse,
You shall die in gunfire,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.

How the faithful city
has become a prostitute!
She that was full of justice;
righteousness lived there –
but now murderers!
The rich drive in from the suburbs to ravage you,
then leave nothing but woe.
Your silver has become trash,
your wine is no good either.
Your princes are rebels
and the companions of thieves.
Everyone loves a bribe
and runs after gifts.
They do not defend the orphan,
and the widow’s cause does not come before them.

The word of the Lord.

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